Living The Dream
by Arron-Philip
Summary: "As he watched Fabrizio talking, he could not take his eyes off of his lips. He could not clear his mind of what he was thinking, no matter how wrong it seemed. He couldn't help but imagine kissing those perfect lips that spoke in that sultry Italian accent. It was true, Fabrizio De Rossi and Jack Dawson were best friends, but now Jack was feeling something he had never felt." R&R!


Jack looked the foreigner deep in the eye, a cigarette hanging from his soft pink lips, the grey fingers of temptation doing their dance around his shirt collar and through his dirty blonde hair. His blue eyes scanned the table, taking in the sight of the money and the two tickets to board the RMS Titanic that lay between him and his opponent, and then back to the hand he held. It was a risky hand, and he knew that he had no choice but to play this hand, and showing his hand could either be the greatest or worst move of his life, but he had to do it. Taking a deep inhale of polluted air, he composed himself and kept his poker face as straight as he possibly could. It didn't matter how difficult it was to hide the nerves, he always managed it. He was a liar, and a damn good one. To get by on the streets you had to be good at lying, and cheating, and playing the game the way others wanted you to.

But right now, the game was finally going his way for once, because as soon as his Russian enemy placed his cards on the table, Jack's eyes lit up like melting blocks of ice that had been trying to be cold for too long. A warmth ran through the teenagers body as he slammed his winning hand down on the oak surface, screaming the words, "Full house boys!"

The Russian was not pleased as he watched Jack scrape his winnings into his brown rucksack, the only thing he had to his name. It was the only thing Jack had managed to salvage of his father's after the house fire, and he took it everywhere with him. It was his home, and it felt good to be filling his home with shimmering coins and crisp green notes. His father was a gambler, and he was sure he'd be proud.

With the bag full and flung over his shoulder, Jack turned away from the sore losers as they argued amongst themselves in their untranslatable tongue. The man who had lost punched his friend in the face as if he was to blame, which made Jack burst out in fits of laughter. Just then, a hand was placed on his shoulder as he bent over to pick up his jacket. Standing upright and looking over his shoulder he saw a familiar face, a friendly face, another foreign face perhaps, but a face he had grown to love.

"We're... going home?" he asked with gleaming chocolate brown eyes, in his addictive Italian accent.

"We're going home!" Jack confirmed excitedly. With several notes clasped in his fists, he punched the air and cheered. Fabrizio rushed towards him and wrapped his strong arms around Jack's torso. Jack let his arms fall down around Fabrizio's neck, and they held each other tightly, joyfully, lovingly. Jack breathed in deeply, smelling that distinctive and comforting smell that was Fabrizio. He had fallen asleep to that smell countless times. It soothed him... It had gradually become his world. The only world he knew was this man right in front of him. The man who was burrowing his face into the side of Jack's neck, his stubble tickling him.

Fabrizio De Rossi. Tall, tanned, dark and handsome. He was the perfect specimen of a man, and the fact he was Italian was simply the icing on the cake. Jack was around the same height, and although he was tanned, he was only sun kissed compared to his olive skinned companion. Jack had long blonde hair that threatened to hide his piercing blue eyes, and Fabrizio had gone for a shorter, neater look, brought about by his last place of employment in a Southampton restaurant. He wasn't allowed to look scruffy, but he also wasn't allowed to take food home for Jack, hence the reason he was fired. The two of them were both toned and fit, with little meat on their bones. Running from the cops and rarely eating did this to a young man, but it was fun, and it was a life they loved and shared.

The De Rossi family moved from Italy to Wisconsin when he was 13 to get away from a mafia style gang whom Mr De Rossi owed money to. Upon arrival to America, the land of opportunity, he soon met Jack Dawson. Jack taught him to speak English, taught him how to fish and ice skate. They had a good childhood. As good as a 3rd class childhood could get anyway. It was as Jack's mother always said, "Money can't buy you fun, knowledge or love." And she was right. Jack had learned more on the streets than any of the richer kids in America had learnt in school. He was street wise rather than book smart, but he preferred it this way.

However, when Jack was 15, he and Fabrizio were out playing hide and seek in the woods, and there was a tragic accident. A raging fire had started in Jack's home, and his mother and father both perished. Nothing was spared by the blazing inferno, not that it mattered. Possessions and belongings meant nothing to Jack, but family did, and now he had no one. The De Rossi's took Jack in for several months, but Jack was heartbroken and couldn't stay in the same neighbourhood that his house had once stood in.

One night, he decided he would leave Wisconsin and travel the world. It had always been his dream, and he knew Fabrizio had wander lust ever since leaving Italy. With the De Rossi's sleeping, Jack and Fabrizio both jumped in the back of a horse drawn hay cart and took a free ride to the nearest train platform. The sound of rusty wheels and horse hooves on gravel roads masked the giggles of delight and excitement from within the hay bundles. With a rucksack of belongings and 30 bucks to their name, they made their way towards the beginning of a huge adventure. An adventure that would take them to places they had never even dreamed of going.

Fabrizio grabbed Jack by the shoulders and pushed him away, holding him at arms length, staring into his eyes like a child on Christmas morning. "I'm going to America!"

Jack had never seen Fabrizio so happy. Not since they were young, and Fabrizio got his first catch when they were both ice fishing. The same childish excitement and joy... and that beautiful smile. Surprisingly white teeth for a beggar, and that light layer of stubble, and the sparkle in his brown eyes that Jack had never noticed until now... or had he noticed? He had always known how attractive his best friend was. But then so did every other female they came into contact with on their travels. It wasn't exactly a big deal to suddenly realize the dimples on the Italian boys cheeks are probably the single most precious thing you've ever witnessed.

Why was he thinking about this now?

Jack then realized that he had been standing gazing at Fabrizio for longer than was considered normal. He snapped out of... whatever trance he was in. A hearty voice then bellowed through the sound of voices in the pub, catching both of their attention.

"No son, Titanic's going to America, in 5 minutes." It was the bartender, and as he watched the boys get caught up in the emotion of the winning, he smugly dried a pint glass and laughed to himself. It was 5 minutes to mid day on April 10th 1912, and sure enough, the floating palace they named Titanic was due to leave Southampton, headed for New York. When Jack heard the two Russians bragging about their poker playing skills, wagering their tickets out of arrogance and foolish confidence, he knew then and there that he wanted to win those tickets. He had nothing to lose, but everything to gain. He had been away from home for too long, so had Fabrizio. Britain had been kind to them, bridges for bedrooms and dustbins for dinner, but to feel good old American soil under their feet would be the ultimate reward.

Fabrizio turned and just about knocked the door off of its hinges as he raced outside, like a horse being released from its stable after days of captivity. Jack ran at the back of him, carrying both of their bags of belongings. They travelled light. Possessions weighed you down. You had to be as light as a feather when you travelled as much as they did.

"Hey, Fabrizio!" Jack shouted after him.

He stopped abruptly, panting, and turned. "Yes?"

Jack threw the luggage over to him, and into his arms. "What did your last slave die of, huh?" he laughed and winked cheekily. With the spare luggage now out of his arms he ran off as fast as he could towards the towering metal structure in the near distance.

Fabrizio grinned, and before chasing after the blonde haired beauty, he replied, "He died of not doing as he was told!" A joke he and Jack had used time and time again, but it never got old.

Running after him he eventually caught up, and with one swift movement he had jumped up onto Jack's back. Jack was caught off guard, but grabbed his friend under his thighs and continued to run, laughing out loud as he did so.

"A piggy back?"

"Hey, I ain't no pig!" Jack replied with a tone of exaggerated indignation.

"Not with that belly you're not."

"What belly?"

"Exactly!" Fabrizio ran a hand through Jacks hair as it blew in the wind. Jack felt his hand there, and then felt his arms move down the back of his neck and slide firmly around his shoulders, Fabrizio's strong hands holding onto him tightly. Jack had given Fabrizio a piggy back ride a hundred times... but only now did he savour the feel of his companions thighs. So toned and muscular and firm. Footballers thighs he had often thought. He truly was the perfect specimen of a man... not that it mattered.

The ship was closer now, and they had begun to enter the thick crowds of people at the docks waving to their loved ones. Fabrizio jumped down from Jack's back and they ran alongside one another, pushing through the mobs of faces from all classes and walks of life. "We're the luckiest sons of a bitches in the world, do you know that?" Jack shouted to him over the sound of the ship blasting its funnels and cheerful conversation. "We'd practically be God damn royalty if we got some meal!"

Jack spoke what was on his mind, out of excitement, but also in an attempt to distract himself. He couldn't stop thinking about the feel of his thighs on his hands, or the smell of his cheap cologne and cigar smoke. The feel of his hand in his hair. What the hell was happening to Jack. Was it the blood rushing to his head with all that running? Was it the last pint he had? It did taste a bit out of sorts... Jack had no idea, but right now, as he watched Fabrizio talking to him, he could not take his eyes off of his lips... he could not clear his mind of what he was thinking, no matter how wrong it seemed... he couldn't help but imagine kissing those perfect lips that spoke in that sultry Italian accent.

It was true, Fabrizio De Rossi and Jack Dawson were best friends, but now Jack was feeling something towards him that he had never felt... or had he?


End file.
